FearBased Responses
by Arlene
Summary: The Batclan must deal with the aftereffects of fear toxin
1. Tim

Disclaimer thing: DC owns them. Not mine, never will be. No money is being made from this piece of fiction.

Fear-Based Responses

By Arlene

Tim:

Can't let go. Whatever I do, I can't let go.

I can't show him how much the stuff's affecting me. Okay, yeah, I took the antidote, but I know the toxin's not totally out of me yet. Crap. I'm still shaking. I try to hide my hands in the folds of my cape, hoping that he didn't catch that. Of course, him being who he is, I'm pretty sure he saw it.

I try to concentrate on other stuff to distract me. The hum of the Car. The slight whoosh of trees and rocks as we pass by. Think of anything but That. 

They've gotta come up with a stronger anti-toxin 'cuz this just sucks.

I stare straight ahead. I can't close my eyes 'cuz I know what I'll see if I do. I sneak a peek at Batman, and he's clenching his jaws. Disapproval. I've gotta keep a tighter rein on my emotions. 

For once, I'm grateful he's not talking to me. In the beginning, it used to unnerve me, the silence, but I figured out that it was just his way of processing. If I'd screwed up royally, he'd be biting my head off right now. So I guess I did okay? Or is he waiting 'til we get back so he can use visual aids to show me what I did wrong? And then rip me a new one afterwards, of course. I'm starting to wonder if paranoia is a side effect of the latest toxin.

We pull into the Cave, and Alfred's there, I'm out of the Car, and Alfred's arm is wrapped around me. And I let go now 'cuz I know I'm safe.

When we reach the medbay, I can hear Dick railing at Bruce. Dude's got some mouth on him. Probably all that time with Arsenal. Alfred takes a sample of blood to do a tox screen and shoos me off to take a shower. 

I can still hear Dick talking when I get out, but I'm so dead on my feet that I'm not even paying attention anymore. If they wanna kill each other, 'scool with me. I'm goin' t'bed. Something warm and strong guides me to the elevator. Musta blacked out 'cuz next thing I know, I'm in bed. Wait. Need something.

"alfie, please, light…?"

Last thing I see is Alfred's smile in the soft glow of a lamp.


	2. Bruce

Bruce:

As we speed back to the Manor, I glance at the boy next to me. He's trying not to show it, but I can see by the slight trembling that the fear toxin's still in his system. 

Under the circumstances, he performed quite admirably, especially with the amount of toxin he took in. I know I should tell him that he did well, that I'm proud of him, but my own fear keeps my mouth from opening, my tongue from forming those words to express my…feelings. My jaw clenches even more tightly in an effort to keep everything bottled up inside of me, instead of letting it out where it'll do the most good.

We really need to come up with a stronger anti-toxin.

We pull into the Cave. Having already been apprised of the situation, Alfred's approaching Robin's side of the Car and helps him out, wrapping an arm around the boy's shoulders. Robin's body is starting to shake more as he's being led to the medbay. Good. He's relaxing enough to let the chemicals in his system run their course. 

As I watch them, I get a bit wistful. Alfred used to hold me like that. 

I'm not jealous, but there are times when I wish I still held the belief that Alfred would fix everything and make the world right again. I also wish I had Alfred's ability to calm and soothe. I'll admit I'm the absolute last person anyone would turn to for comfort. I'm better at inspiring fear, even in people I'm trying to help. Which brings my mind back to the present situation. 

I go to my chair when I hear Nightwing's motorcycle come in. I settle myself in as the motor dies, and I wait for the inevitable tirade. I think there's a bit of the poison still in his system, too.

We really need to come up with a stronger anti-toxin.

"My God, Bruce! I don't (frigging) believe you!!" Of course he didn't actually say that, but I didn't approve of his language. When he's really angry, it comes so naturally that he probably doesn't even know he does it. Even though he's a man now, I still can't reconcile my little boy swearing so freely. I realize how odd it must be, but there's a part of me that wants to hold onto little Dickie just a bit longer.

"(Darnit), what about all that (stuff) you drilled in to me about waiting for (frigging) back up?!"

I blame Harper's influence.

"I mean, you could've just waited one more (darn) minute. (Fudge)!" 

And he's right, I could've waited 60 seconds more. I…panicked…and literally jumped the gun too soon. I could blame the fear toxin, but I knew it was a trap from the beginning and acted anyway.

"(Heck), Bruce, if you can't trust me, why the (heck) don't you just say so? Then I wouldn't have to keep guessing all the (darn) time! (Shoot)!"

That's my fault, too. I've always known about his insecurities, about his self-perceived shortcomings, but we've never spoken at length about those issues and laid his fears to rest. We've only had small moments, too few and far between to tell him how I truly feel. If I had dealt with his worries sooner, he wouldn't have been so affected by the toxin.

"If you weren't such a cold, unfeeling (b…"

He's wrong about that. I'm not cold and unfeeling, and tonight just proved that. If anything, I feel too much. When I saw the gun, all the feelings came back and overwhelmed me: helplessness, isolation, rage, futility, guilt, weakness, abandonment, horror. Fear. Always that Fear.

There are times when I wish I could turn off that part of me and just stop feeling altogether. Everything, life, would be so much easier. I wouldn't feel so…guilty about not making it in time for those hostages, not being strong enough for my parents, not being there for Jason, Dick, Jim, Barbara, Sarah, so many more. And I wouldn't feel that Fear, that ever present Fear of being surrounded by glass cases, housing mementos of loved ones I couldn't save.

Hm. A phobia of glass cases. I'll have to look that one up.

I'll admit I've tried to show very little emotion. I'd like to spare those around me from my own insignificant problems. I'm not worth it.

Suddenly, a warm hand caresses my jaw, and I practically jump out of my chair at the unexpected contact. I must've missed something. 

Note: Lack of concentration possible side effect of toxin.

"I'm sorry." Nightwing, no Dick, sounds contrite. I must've missed something important. I pull my cowl down and face him. He looks down at the floor, and suddenly, I see my little boy again, apologizing for something trivial, afraid that I'll send him back to the JDC.

"Um, I-I was out of line. We all got dosed, and we weren't thinking real clearly. Yelling at you was just that: yelling. I didn't mean all that stuff I said, I just needed some sort of outlet. I'm s-sorry." He looks so lost…

Note: Emotions other than fear are heightened: i.e., anger, remorse and guilt.

"No, Dick, you were right. Most of those things you said were true. We both know you wouldn't have said them if you truly didn't believe them."

The wrong words to say. He flinches. I could never say the right things to him. I need to try again. 

"Dick." I place my hand on his shoulder. I'm slightly reassured when he doesn't move away. "What I meant to say was that I can" I've got to say the right words here "trust you to tell me the facts. I know you wouldn't lie just to hurt me. I have faith in you to tell me the truth, even when I might not appreciate it." 

He finally looks up at me. The spark of hope in his eyes gives me the courage to go on. "We'll have to work on your delivery, though. I'm getting you a thesaurus for Christmas." He lets out a laugh and throws himself at me. If I were in a less sturdy chair, I'd be knocked over by the force of his hug. It feels…good.

Note: Causes lowered inhibitions.

"Dick, I…" I love you. Three simple words, and I still can't say them. What's wrong with me? Instead, I hold him tighter.

"Yeah, me, too." Perhaps the toxin's side effects aren't all negative.


	3. Dick

Dick:

All right, I'll admit I'm still mad. At Scarecrow, at Tim, at Bruce for letting Tim, at the hostages for dying, at the police, but mostly at myself. And, yes, I'm still scared, too. 

Although I know I can let muscle memory take over driving the Cycle, I take extra care to focus on the road ahead, at my surroundings, on the machine under me, on the pressure I exert on it because I know that technically, I'm DUI. Stupid toxin. If I ran into a ditch, that'd be icing on the cake, wouldn't it?

I pull into the Cave and kill the engine. Once I make sure Alfred's got Tim, I start in on Bruce.

"My God, Bruce! I don't believe you!!" I know some of the toxin's still running through my system, but I just can't seem to help myself.

"What about all those lessons you drilled into me about waiting for back up?! I mean, if you could've just waited one more lousy minute. Argh!" I'm on a roll now, and I couldn't stop if I wanted to. Which I don't. All of this, well, rage, just coming out of nowhere. 

We've gotta come up with a stronger anti-toxin.

"C'mon, Bruce, if you can't trust me, why in God's name don't you just say so? Then I wouldn't have to keep guessing all the time! For crying out loud!"

And I just go on, pouring out my hurt and fear. It actually feels kinda cleansing. I realize that it's all been building up for a while, but after what went down tonight, he needs to hear this now.

He's ignoring me though, just sitting in that stupid throne of his in front of the computer. "If you weren't such a cold, unfeeling person, you'd figure out by now…" And suddenly, it hits me. I'm wrong. I need to stop and regroup here. 

Roy's infamous Irish temper must be contagious. 

I peel off the mask and gloves. The sudden coolness of air against my skin helps me calm down even more. Deep breaths, Grayson. In through the nose, hold, out through the mouth. Better. Now listen. 

Silence. I don't hear the rhythmic tapping of keys. If he were truly ignoring me, he'd be typing a report. I'd been so wrapped up in my rant that I didn't even check if Bruce was all right. I can be such an idiot sometimes.

I jog up to the computer and look at him. He's not unconscious, thank God. He's slumped back in his chair and there's this little twist at the corner of his mouth. After years of being with him and watching him, I can tell what's going on. He's thinking about Them, the people he believes he's failed. I know it's mainly due to that hit of fear toxin he took, but I sure didn't help by going off at him. Probably reinforced his feelings. I'm such a jerk.

I reach out to him and try to bring him out of his, uh, meditations. I stroke the lower part of his face, the only part of him not covered by the Suit. Suddenly, I feel like a kid again. Once, when I'd first moved in, he'd let me touch his chin after he'd shaved half his face so that I could feel the difference, just so my curiosity was satisfied. Dad used to let me do that…

He jerks back at bit, not much, but enough to let me know he's aware. It hits me right then how much trust he had in me, even way back then, to let me in close enough to touch him. To touch *him*. The whole thing is so amazing that it practically steals my breath away.

"I'm sorry," I whisper. He takes off the cowl. Bruce is back, but the look in his eyes, oh God, did I do that? I can't face him, knowing I'm responsible for that.

"Um, I-I was out of line. We all got dosed, and we weren't thinking real clearly. Yelling at you was just that: yelling. I didn't mean all that stuff I said, I just needed some sort of outlet. I'm s-sorry." I think I'm actually on the verge of crying here. First anger, now weepy. Not normal, but again, I can't help it. Is this what PMS is supposed to be like?

We've *really* gotta come up with a stronger anti-toxin.

"No, Dick, you were right. Most of those things you said were true. We both know you wouldn't have said them if you truly didn't believe them." He says it so matter-of-factly. I didn't mean to hurt his feelings, really, I didn't…

"Dick." I feel his powerful hand on my shoulder, and he gives me this slight squeeze. I can't pull away now because I know he's trying to tell me something important. "What I meant to say was that I can trust you to tell to me the facts. I know you wouldn't lie just to hurt me. I have faith in you to tell me the truth, even when I might not appreciate it."

I look up in surprise. That was definitely the last thing I expected to hear.

"We'll have to work on your delivery, though. I'm getting you a thesaurus for Christmas." Stop the presses! He just made a joke!

I launch myself at him and cling to him for all I'm worth.

"Dick, I…" His voice is rough, and he hugs me tighter. What he can't say, I can feel. 

"Yeah," I whisper, "me, too."

I don't care if it's the toxin. It's us.


	4. Alfred

Alfred:

I wait impatiently for the Car to arrive. According to Bruce, Tim was dosed with quite a bit more fear toxin than either he or Dick received, and considering that among them, Tim has the least body mass…Fortunately, they all had the anti-toxin. Though it may counteract some of the more severe reactions, it probably won't neutralise all of them.

We've learned the hard way that time and rest is the only way to completely rid one's system of the toxin. However, I suspect none of us will be getting much sleep tonight. Nightmares.

Finally, they arrive, and I guide Tim to the medbay. Poor boy's shaking like a leaf. He appears quite lucid, but still on edge.

"This totally sucks." I concur with Tim's assessment. After taking a sample for the toxicology screen, I send him off to the showers; one never knows what other infectious agents were out there.

They're arguing again. Or, more precisely, Dick is yelling, Bruce is silent. Dick is extremely angry; he normally tones down his language when he knows I'm in the vicinity. It must be the toxin.

Although I applaud the fact that Dick and Barbara are more romantically involved, I truly wish he wouldn't pick up her…colorful euphemisms. Roy Harper is a saint when compared to Barbara in one of her moods.

Tim finally emerges from the shower, skin still slightly flushed from the heat, eyes at half-mast. The adrenaline has worn off. I secure the robe more tightly around his thin form and almost drag him to the elevator. The poor boy makes an effort to walk, but he's so drowsy that his stumbling is more of a hindrance. I steer him to a wheelchair, and he drops into it, oblivious to everything around him. Before we continue, I check to make sure he's merely asleep instead of unconscious.

As I make another attempt to take him to the upper levels, I notice that Dick is still going on. As yet, Bruce has said nothing, which worries me. Bruce's silences mean that he's internalising, and in light of the fact that he, too, must still be feeling the effects of the toxin, this does not bode well. If the matter is not resolved by the time I return, I'll personally force both of them to bed.

I never claimed to be a pacifist.

As I tuck Tim in, he rouses from his sleep.

"alfie, please, light…?"

Ah yes. I leave a lamp on. I go off and rummage around for one of Bruce's old teddy bears and lay it next to Tim. He may be embarrassed in the morning, but if it gives him comfort tonight, it'll be worth it.

I make my way back "downstairs" with the wheelchair, prepared to stick either one or both in it if need be. 

I must say, after the yelling, the tableau before me is quite unexpected.

They're hugging.

It seems as if some good came out of this after all. Their mental defences must've been lowered enough by the toxin to allow them to express themselves. As much as it warms my heart to see it, I know it must come to an end. If I were to learn anything from my experience with Tim, it's that I won't be able to carry them to bed.

I see my opportunity when they finally pull back from each other. I clear my throat.

"Young sirs, it is time to go to bed."

They both exchange a fond glance before turning to me.

Dick stretches. "He's right, Bruce, I'd better be going home now."

I raise an eyebrow.

"…um, or not. Maybe I'll just crash here tonight?" I nod in approval. Dick looks at me. I point to the showers. "I'm gonna hit the showers, and I'll be up soon?" I nod again, and Dick looks relieved at answering correctly. 

"Sounds good, chum. I'll be up after I update…" 

I raise the other eyebrow.

"I think I'll change and take my shower upstairs." I stare at Bruce for good measure. "And I'm going right now. This instant." I nod. 

I wait for Bruce to change and enter the elevator before I follow him up; I want to make sure he doesn't linger behind to do more work. A stubborn one, is my eldest. Dick knows he'd best come up quickly for I've little to no patience if my boys neglect to rest when they're able.

Sometimes a little fear can be a good thing.

End


End file.
